Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Arnold Crapper
Arnold Crapper, the South Yorkshire Fiddler reads like a cross between a celebration of local folk music and the wall of a public school toilet. Bibby has obvious affection for the oral traditions of the North and his writing carries a great sense of warmth for the subject, albeit peppered with juvenile humour, crass innuendo and bestiality.
This entertaining piece takes the form of a series of anecdotes, covering the life and times of the Thurnscoe Fiddler. From his birth in a (blessedly) brass band free colliery town, to his deathbed moments, shared with a music loving convicted paedophile, Bibby never misses an opportunity to extol the virtues of his creation’s musical genius or his commanding usage of the double entendre. On reflection I suspect that they may in fact be single entendres, and proud of it, but this hardly detracts from the work.
You could, at times, almost believe A. Crapper had played venues throughout the Dearne Valley, but Bibby crosses the line on several occasions and shows just how fraudulent this legendary fiddler is. A musician composing a song titled The Thurnscoe Slags may sound possible, but a musician, especially one form Yorkshire, complaining of an excess of free alcohol is simply preposterous.
The article reminds me of the Dear Bill letters published in Private Eye during the Thatcher years. Both works stood on the very edge of credibility, leaving the reader laughing hard enough to wish the work was true. Long live Ronnie.
Matt Stone
Arnold Crapper, the South Yorkshire Fiddler reads like a cross between a celebration of local folk music and the wall of a public school toilet. Bibby has obvious affection for the oral traditions of the North and his writing carries a great sense of warmth for the subject, albeit peppered with juvenile humour, crass innuendo and bestiality.
This entertaining piece takes the form of a series of anecdotes, covering the life and times of the Thurnscoe Fiddler. From his birth in a (blessedly) brass band free colliery town, to his deathbed moments, shared with a music loving convicted paedophile, Bibby never misses an opportunity to extol the virtues of his creation’s musical genius or his commanding usage of the double entendre. On reflection I suspect that they may in fact be single entendres, and proud of it, but this hardly detracts from the work.
You could, at times, almost believe A. Crapper had played venues throughout the Dearne Valley, but Bibby crosses the line on several occasions and shows just how fraudulent this legendary fiddler is. A musician composing a song titled The Thurnscoe Slags may sound possible, but a musician, especially one form Yorkshire, complaining of an excess of free alcohol is simply preposterous.
The article reminds me of the Dear Bill letters published in Private Eye during the Thatcher years. Both works stood on the very edge of credibility, leaving the reader laughing hard enough to wish the work was true. Long live Ronnie.
Matt Stone
# posted by Matt @ 12:31 PM 
